


Dear Michael,

by CryingInTheBathroomByHerself



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Bisexual Jeremy Heere, Dreams, Fluffy, I wrote this forever ago, Ice Cream, Idk how to tag ugh, In Love, Jere lov mikey, Letter form, M/M, Mikey is gay in case y'all forgot, Mikey lov jere but leaves??, Music, Prosthetic leg jere, References to Depression, Running Away, SPOILER mikeys died, Songs, angsty, hopes, i love my boys im sorry, im low key proud, im soooorrryyy, jere has a prosthetic leg???, saying goodbye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 19:48:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15736188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CryingInTheBathroomByHerself/pseuds/CryingInTheBathroomByHerself
Summary: Jeremy and Michael have been best friends forever.So of course they fell in love.But death got in the way.





	Dear Michael,

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this forever ago,,,,
> 
> wow
> 
> lightly references death, anxiety and depression.

Michael (don't kill me, that's my job) dearest,

I remember you stared at your tub of peanut butter swirl ice cream like it would solve all our problems. Spoiler alert! It won’t. I half wish it could, considering where we are. Nothing can change it though. No one, either.

We are stuck in a time where most kids are “normal.” Most kids don’t feel like this. Most kids, most kids, most kids. It’s all we hear most days.

To clear things up, we’re different. In more ways than one. We are both nerdy, dorky jerks. We stand alone at dodgeball and other cliche things like that. I was in a car accident, and I lost my leg. Now I have a prosthetic one. People think it stops me from doing things. Bro, I don’t feel like doing all this shit, ever think of that? Either way, we are both, not completely straight. Then again, who is? I don’t know.

You are one of the cutest people I know. You are so short, but not that short? I’m really freakishly tall. You hate it. You also hate this one emoji face, its this one: ;]. You consistently and constantly steal my sweatshirts and sweatpants. You are much too small for them. You have dark brown hair, you keep it sort of short, at least, shorter than mine. You have cinnamon skin, and big brown eyes. You scribble using blue and black pens, sometimes gold, on your legs and jeans. You have scars on your knees and elbows, and you consistently have band aids on different parts of your body, because of your clumsiness.

I however, I am tall. I wear soft sweaters and jeans or sweatpants. I wear red high top converse. In writing this, I have realized how similar we are. But, my left leg, like I said, is prosthetic, and I have long-ish light brown and curly hair. I have fair skin, and freckles and moles everywhere. You treat them like targets.

“Spoon.” I say, still staring into the sunset. We are sitting on the roof of the apartment we share. Although we are adults, we are still in the town that our parents are in. We were forced to stay here. But if we blip off of the map? We could be free. Or could we?

“Did you know you have stardust in your veins? I do to. We all have specks of stardust. We are useless lifeforms stranded on a wet rock floating in the infinite abyss, but we have stardust in us.” You say as you pass the spoon we share to me.

“Huh,” I say, into the ice cream, “I wonder how it got there.” I said this because I knew you would want to talk about space. We could talk about stardust instead of thinking about what will happen. To you. To me. To us.

“I don’t remember,” you said flatly. Oh no. Thats never, never never a good sign, “What if we run away tonight? We could leave a note.” You said, excited, and purely and wholly, alive. I’ve seen you like this two other times since I met you. When I told you a secret about me, that was also true for you. When we got our cat, Lucifer.

“Uhm, should we? Really? What about… what about our things? We only have-” I tried to reason, but all reason failed. You cut me off with a loud shushing noise.

“It will be amazing! It would be an adventure! We can pack up now, get all our money and just run! And Lucifer can come with!”

“Honey, no we can’t. We have no money to begin with. We can’t run from anything,” I paused, “But as soon as we get enough money and I can get a job to wherever we are running off to? We will go.”

You frowned, “Pinky pwomise?” you help up your pinky, hopeful.

“Pinky Promise.” I said. I had no idea if it was true.

Minutes outside turned to hours, and we went on with life.

Minutes to hours, to days, to weeks, to months. To, years. Then we had saved up enough, and we planned everything. The promise was true. I told you!

Then. The day came. We got everything we needed, we got everything. And we packed it. My little old Fredricka, (my car, a ford) was all packed up. We had your old records. We had my painting things, our computer, our books and posters, our yellow lamp, and all our clothing. Actually we got tons of new clothes and sold our old ones. So, all or our new clothes. Everything was packed in the trunk and the backseat. We had Lucifer in a carrier, big enough that he had enough room to stretch a bit and have his food. It wasn't ‘running away’ anymore, it was more like moving away without telling the jerks in town. I mean, we told our parents, with a note. Or something like that.

As soon as you sat in the passenger side, you plugged your phone in the AUX and you pressed ‘running away from all dat bs’

Our favorite song came on.

We started singing, loud, and that’s when I knew everything was going to be okay.

 

 

 

Or, so I thought.

 

It’s been a few weeks. Since you left. You didn't willingly leave, god knows you gave a fight. But, you didn’t win.

Now I live in our house, alone.

I still have your records, and your books and posters. I still have our yellow lamp. I shouldn't say “ours” or “yours” because you're gone. Alone.

I've tried to go through your stuff, and get rid of it. I tried to do everything to make you happy, but it wasn't enough. In your letter you said you loved me, and that you just wanted me to move on, to be happy. But I knew it couldn't be true. We were going through the same thing. We both have the same things, depression, anxiety, and I've thought about doing the same thing you did. But I thought of you. I'm not calling you a liar, or selfish, I'm just sorry you felt alone. I was alone to. But I knew that once I was through. There's only be one thing left to do.

I hope we can sing Hamilton, or Dear Evan Hansen, or some other musical, way to loud. I hope we can see each other again. Maybe, things will be different then. We might be happier.

But you’re gone. The only way I would be able to see you would be if, if I’m buried beside you.

But that will never happen. 

The ring I hid under my pillow will still be there. 

The speech I prepared will stay on my desk.

I loved you.

More than you could ever know.

But you're gone.

And I am stuck here.

With our yellow lamp, and our records and posters and all our things.

I keep finding myself humming along, singing to all of our favorite songs. I find myself almost, for a second, with my eyes closed that you would be standing there. That we would still be talking about children and getting a dog. Then I remember by the fruit loops in the shelf. I remember by the ice cream in the freezer. I remember by your favorite sweater, that still smells a bit like you. It smells like our laundry detergent, and like cinnamon and apples, it smells like home. Like a nice warm hug at the end of a hard day. I remember how you left. I remember your funeral. I remember everything. It all comes crashing down. When I found your letter, I felt my world turn upside down.

In your letter to me, you said that you loved me, and that I could move on. I didn't know what you meant. It reminded me of that playlist we made. The sad songs, it was and it broke my heart many a late night. In your letter, you left a list of our songs that you wanted me to play to remember you. It started out happy, with our favorite songs that we would sing loud. In the middle it was songs we would sing to each other. Closer to the end, anti-anxiety instrumental songs. At the end, came the sad songs. The songs that remind me of everything we've done, everything we could have done. Everything we can't do.

I will see you soon. Don't worry, I'll do it right.

I'll see you on the other side.

Sincerely,

Jeremy

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh sorry guys 
> 
> there ya go
> 
> pls give me kudos and comments 
> 
> I need to feed my turtle named Marvin


End file.
